Cold
by kiwi.girrrl
Summary: A 'what if' Admiral Janeway didn't change the future story. [Author's Note: This was inspired by and written as a prequel to "22 Days" by DAxilla. 22/04/13 very minor re-write, I'm pedantic.] WARNING: Character death.


**Cold**

2013 Kiwi Girrrl

Rated: **K+**

* * *

_Acknowledgements_

Star Trek: Voyager ® is a registered trademark of Paramount Pictures registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office. All Rights Reserved.

Thanks to; Kate Mulgrew and Jeri Ryan for portraying the characters, Captain Kathryn Janeway and Seven of Nine, because without these gorgeous ladies we wouldn't have fuel for our wayward imaginings.

_Author's Note_

This story was inspired by _**22 Days**_ by DAxilla, and is intended as a prequel of sorts.

* * *

_"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."_  
_Kahlil Gibran 1883-1931_

* * *

Cold.

The word kept intruding into Kathryn's thoughts as she stood in sickbay looking at Seven of Nine. She heard the doctor fussing around the room; out of sight.

Cold. Such a benign word, quite innocuous when taken on face value. It was only upon scratching the surface that the deeper meanings were revealed. And Captain Janeway never was good at taking anything at face value, especially when it came to Seven. She'd been scratching to get under Seven's surface since she discovered she was human beneath all that Borg technology.

Cold; unfriendly, hostile.

When she was first severed from the Borg hive mind, these words were apt. She fought tooth and nail to leave Voyager and return to the collective. Even to the point of threatening to kill Kathryn personally when she locked her in the brig for attempting to contact them. But those definitions have been long irrelevant.

Cold; heartless, indifferent.

She was never either of those things, even back then, when she was so new to humanity in general and hers in particular. She knew that was how most of the Voyager crew saw her when she first came on board. That was what they thought she was, so that is what they were to her. Seven rose above their bigotry and forged friendships with them eventually despite themselves. She was always so astute, her grasp of human nature greater than any of us imagined or dreamed._  
_

Cold; distant, standoffish, aloof.

Yes she was all of those things. But not always, not to everyone, and not anymore. _They never got to know you as intimately as I. You let some of them in but never as much as I._

The distress call had come without warning. Man down, wounded, emergency evacuation.

It was supposed to be a routine away mission. How could it have gone so horribly wrong? Why did it end so tragically?

The doctor to his credit tried his best. But it wasn't enough. He explained how her injuries were too extensive; included all the appropriate medical jargon that went along with it; for his own piece of mind, she suspected, more than for her benefit. Kathryn still had no idea what he said. She heard nothing above the roar of blood rushing in her ears, could only look at Seven lying there on the surgical biobed, so still.

Cold; unresponsive.

Kathryn could almost fool herself into thinking she was asleep. Her face looked serene, composed, at rest. But her chest did not rise and fall with her breathing; because she wasn't.

She had no idea how long she'd been standing there. She shifted position, stretching stiffened muscles; the movement caused her to stagger under the weight of her grief, and she fell to her knees head bowed. The doctor must have been hovering; she caught a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye as he rushed to assist. She waved him away with a swat of her hand; as if he were a pesky fly. He discreetly disappeared again.

She clawed her way up to stand on her feet; closing the gap to the bed where Seven lay in the process. She white-knuckle gripped the side of the bed. A hand, her hand, shaking uncontrollably, reached out. She touched the pale white skin of Seven's human hand, only to jerk it away again; as if burned.

Cold.

Kathryn cradled the hand to her chest as the cold raced through her body like wildfire, from her fingertips. It knew exactly where it was going, like a living breathing entity or a heat seeking missile; it went directly to her heart, and there it settled in and made itself comfortable, made itself at home.

She never bought into the cliché "Home is where the heart is." Until now, until the cold; it blanketed her heart, robbed her of her home, stole her hope. She thought she had a well-defined definition of hope, until she met Seven. She thought she knew where her home was, until she knew Seven. She thought she knew her heart, until she loved Seven. And now that was all gone and she was numb.

Cold; unfeeling.

She sent silent thank yous to whatever deities existed and cared enough to listen that she doesn't have an eidetic memory. She will continue to function for the crew, only because her memory is flawed, human. She will get them to Earth as promised, but her soul was not in their journey home anymore.

Cold; apathetic, automaton.


End file.
